Draconigena
by GoforthAndConquer
Summary: He had been created to serve. A weapon for the Dark Lord. But now, he longs to serve her, the one he was made to destroy. Draco x Hermione.
1. To Serve

He had known long ago that he was not born. Children are born. Love is born. Dreams are born.

Draco Malfoy had been made. Made for the promise of pain. Made for the destruction of virtue.

He was never crafted for compassion. Every crevice and nuance of his creation was chiseled by malice and cruelty. He was honed to the keenest edge of hatred, a weapon to shed blood. Filthy blood, dirty blood, blood saturated with grime and soot and muck. Mud blood.

The ivory blade of Death.

He had known no purpose but those of his masters. Serving his father, serving his mother, serving the Dark Lord. Serving darkness. Ever in service, viciously eager, always willing to be used to further the ends of others.

When had it all changed? When had his purpose been altered? When had the shadows inside him shifted, revealing new purpose, a singular purpose, to serve another? He had been created for destruction.

He was now sharpened with obsession.

It was her scent. Hazelnuts and raspberries and sunshine and power. It taunted him in every class they had together, managing to reach across the room to where he sat, until he was near drunk on the perfume. It made his head light, his hands shake, his mouth water. That scent lingered at her desk when she left the room, and he couldn't help a slight pause to drink it in once more, so much more potent and heady. He had nearly died when she brushed past him in the hall, instantly drunk and voracious. It had taken every ounce of control he possessed to keep from crushing her against his chest just so he could bury his face into the crook of her neck and breath deep.

And her hair. He could spend hours trying to discover every hue and he would never succeed. Auburn, chestnut, cherry, bistre, gold, chocolate, carmine, russet, amber, scarlet, bronze, coffee, saffron. All woven together in luscious curls that tangled with her lashes and swung with every step. When they were younger, he had taunted her with verbal barbs, calling her hair bushy, bedraggled, a bird's nest. He had lied. It wasn't bushy, had never been bushy in his eyes. It was wild, untamed, lush. As if she were some feral creature trapped in a button down shirt and pleated skirt. It nearly drove him mad.

Her hands held him captive as well. Small, well formed, with elegant fingers and slender wrists. She was always doing something with her hands, whether she was nibbling on her nails or writing notes furiously or waving one in the air to catch the professor's attention. They seemed so fragile, but they were always callused from study, strong from hard work, making them all the more precious. Her hands were useful; they weren't for destruction, but for creation. Her hands gave life to all she touched.

And of course her eyes. The color fascinated him, copper with flecks of gold, like she had the sun captured in her gaze. But it was the unwavering defiance, the sharp intelligence, the fierce courage that made his knees weak for want of falling. She refused to surrender. Even when his verbal blows cut deep beneath her surface, she never faltered. She stared him down with her hawk eyes and he knew that while he was a tool for destruction, he could never destroy her.

He was at an utter loss with himself. She threatened to shatter his original purpose, crush everything he knew to dust. If Draco Malfoy was not a weapon, not a servant of evil, what was he?

He had no answer, and therefore knew no rest. He had barely entered his sixth year at Hogwarts, and he had completely retreated into the shadows. He was a prefect, but found no joy in ordering others, though they readily obeyed, scurrying with fear to complete any task. Once he would have found such power intoxicating. Now it rubbed him raw, scouring beneath his skin until he was sure he'd find bruises marring his skin. And of course she was a prefect too, and at the prefect meetings he felt as if his bones would splinter beneath her sharp gaze. She would sneak glances at him whenever she spoke, waiting for him to act as he was meant to, to slice her with words, to cut her with contempt. It was what he was made for. To spill her dirty blood. But he couldn't. He would remain silent, and every time, something flickered in those copper eyes, and she would turn away.

The only thing that gave him joy was keeping watch over her, just out of sight. He watched her as she sat with Potter and Weasely, throwing that riot of curls behind her as she laughed, a sound like sun drenched velvet. He watched as she tucked herself into a corner of the library, curled into herself with a text book in her lap, sipping tea from a mug. He had seen her unwrap that mug in the Great Hall, a gift from her parents, and the smile that graced her face had made him shudder with wanting. She used it whenever she studied, like a good luck charm, and always with blackberry tea. Despite himself, he had ordered her some when she had run out, leaving it in front of her room's portrait when she'd been in the library, the one time she had gone without her mug and tea. He had hid in the shadows when she had returned and discovered the small package. And the smile she'd revealed then had made his bones ache, made his skin flare with heat until he felt dizzy with it. She had smiled because of him. Because of something he'd done.

He'd never caused anyone to smile before.

Without hesitation, he had sworn himself her silent protector. When Pansy had hexed her favorite book, covering it with bleeding pustules, fury had spiraled deep and dark within him when he'd seen tears glittering in her eyes. The next day, everyone had been whispering about how Pansy had woken up that morning with the same bleeding pustules all over her face as well as her head, which had somehow lost all hair. When she had wandered into the Forbidden Forest with Potter and Weasely and had gotten separated, he had faced off with the werewolf that had caught that raspberry hazelnut scent, chasing her deeper into the forest. She had hidden in the crevice of a tree, and before the werewolf could enter her line of sight, he had emerged from the shadows. He had battled the werewolf, cold rage a living thing in his chest, until the wolf was scattered in frozen pieces across the ground. She had emerged from her hiding place later, staring at the mangled corpse for a moment, then she had returned to the school, not once mentioning the encounter to her friends.

Things were swiftly changing. Tensions were running sharper throughout the school, as the inevitable approached. The Dark Lord was coming. He had summoned his followers to him and they were wreaking havoc, hungry for violence. Draco's parents had already joined their master, and the Dark Lord had mentioned granting their son a special "privilege." He wondered if anyone knew that he'd escaped before he could hear the Dark Lord's proposal. He wondered if anyone knew that he was now as reviled as Potter himself among the ranks of the Death Eaters. But he didn't care. He couldn't align himself with those who would destroy her. Even if they had crafted him to be the killing blade.

It was late, sometime around midnight, as he made his rounds through the shadowed corridors of the school. The moon hung low and was full to bursting, glowing topaz in the liquid onyx sky. He walked down the steps and opened the heavy black door, revealing the dank halls of the dungeons. Some couples would brave the dungeons to sneak in private time to themselves, so he made sure to check them last. Candles flickered wet, barely illuminated the slime slicked stone. He turned the corner, catching what sounded like two voices. As he approached, the voices became clearer, obviously an argument. And then the female voice snarled a warning, and he knew it was _her_. He ran down the hall, racing through the passageways, the sounds becoming louder until he threw open the dungeon door.

There stood Antonin Dolohov, Death Eater, loyal follower of the Dark Lord, robed in black with a menacing scowl twisting his features, a gnarled wand in hand.

And Hermione Granger, pressed against the wall, wand snapped in half and eyes full of courage.

"Draco, my boy, what a surprise," Dolohov sneered, eyes alight in malice, "And here I thought this Mudblood was going to be the main event."

It only took a moment, but that moment had stretched infinite inside him, as if Time were holding its breath. He had known cold rage before, but nothing like this, nothing so purely black that it sank into his bone marrow and froze so deep it burned. In but a moment, he became all he was meant to be. He was cruelty. He was hatred. He was destruction.

"Dolohov," Draco crooned, slipping his hands into his pockets and sauntering into the room. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn't look at her, not now, not when he had become everything dark and malicious, everything that she wasn't. "How strange to find you here. So far from your Master's beck and call."

Dolohov's face flickered with shadows, then he was grinning again, wand still aimed true. "I am always honored to follow the Dark Lord's will. And when his command was to execute Potter's mudblood friend, I was only too delighted to volunteer."

"Such a good little puppy, you are. Do you sit and beg as well?" Draco smiled lazy, leaning against the wall, muscles tensed and ready to pounce.

"Shut up, traitor. The Dark Lord rewards his followers well. And for traitors like you, well, he has only torture and death."

Draco shrugged, an elegant gesture, his voice honeyed venom. "Oh, I'm looking forward to it. It should be most delicious. Now, tell me, Dolohov, however did you get Granger to meet you down here? We all know she's too intelligent for the likes of you, so you must have threatened someone she cares about."

When the Death Eater's eyes narrowed, Draco chuckled low, spiked with mocking. "Oh, very brave, Dolohov. Such cunning. Let me guess, come to the dungeons or I kill your parents. I'm guessing her parents, because they're the only ones she can't check on immediately. You'd have something of theirs, maybe her mother dropped a bracelet, maybe you stole her father's sweater when they were out. Something she would recognize. And then she came here, knowing it would be her death, to protect those she loved."

He could see all his words verified in Dolohov's deepening scowl. He dared a glance at her, and was surprised to see her looking at him with an expression he couldn't name. As if she were looking into the very depths of his being. He turned his attention back to the fuming dark wizard and couldn't help a bark of acidic laughter.

"Bravo, Dolohov," Draco clapped for effect, baring his teeth, "bravo. No wonder your Voldemort's errand boy."

"Enough!" Dolohov snarled, pointing his wand at Draco's chest. "I will kill you and bring your head back to the Dark Lord!"

"I dare you to try."

Dolohov raised his wand, a curse ready on his lips, when Draco sprang into action. With a sudden move his wand was in his hand, all his rage and power churning, furious to be released, and he smirked.

"Expelliarmus!"

Dolohov's wand shattered in his hand. He gaped, shocked, and Draco just smiled wicked sweet.

"Stupefy!"

The Death Eater flew across the room, slamming into the stone wall with a sickening crack. He crumbled to the floor, spitting blood, glaring at Draco with burning hatred. Draco prowled forward, spinning his wand between his fingertips, and knelt in front of Dolohov, just out of reach.

He clucked, shaking his head in mock sadness. "That was disappointingly short, Dolohov. Just two spells and here you are. Your Master would be most displeased."

An instant later, and Draco's hand was curled around Dolohov's throat, squeezing hard. The Death Eater hissed, scrabbling at the hand holding his jugular captive, but to no avail. Draco bared his teeth in a feral grin, eyes sleepy with malice.

"I was made for this, Dolohov. Made for violence, shaped by hatred. I am an instrument of death. But I am not your Master's weapon any longer. So, you will be a warning, Dolohov. You will be warning to all that would dare hurt her that Draco Malfoy is the weapon that serves Hermione Granger."

A sharp crack echoed in the room, the Death Eater's head lolling unnatural. Draco loosened his hand, and Dolohov slumped onto the floor, eyes blank and unfocused. Dead.

Draco stood, and all at once that bitter rage retreated inside the crevices of his chest, leaving him shaking with withdrawal. Horror swelled in his throat, not at the death he had caused, but at what her reaction must be. She would surely hate him, disgusted by the violence that dwelled inside him. She was goodness, and courage, and virtue, all the things he was meant to destroy. And he was hatred, and cruelty, and rage, all the things she was meant to despise.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to stop himself. He felt her move behind him, her presence a warm glow on his skin. "I'm so sorry."

And he ran. He ran from the dungeon, ran through the halls, ran until he saw the safety of his quarters, his own private quarters. He was about to shout the password when he felt that glowing presence again, catching up behind him.

"Stop! Draco!"

He couldn't help but obey.

He kept his eyes closed, afraid of what she might see, when she stopped in front of him. His hands shook, her scent so potent, so heady now, now that she was so close to him.

"Draco?" Her voice was sweet, strong, steel laced in vanilla. "Please open your eyes."

It was a command, and he could never refuse her. He opened his eyes, and she was there, so close, her beautiful face, inches from his. He had never been able to examine her this close. Her nose turned up slightly, and he decided it was adorable. Her skin was the color of gardenias, and she had three freckles like Orion's belt across her left cheekbone, almost too small to notice. Her mouth was soft, her bottom lip just slightly fuller, and was the color of strawberries and cream and all he wanted to know was if that's how she tasted. He could count the gold flecks in her eyes and suddenly, shame curdled acrid in his throat.

"How can you stand to look at me?" He asked, voice dark hued and shaking ever so slightly. "Knowing what I am?"

"What you are?" She looked confused for a second, then realization lit her eyes, and the corner of her mouth curled lightly, and it was so close to a smile that Draco nearly whimpered. Without warning, she lifted a hand and rested it against his cheek, and he nearly jumped at the heat of it. It was hot and sweet and so good that he couldn't help leaning into her hand, turning his head so he could breathe in that wonderful scent from the source.

"Draco, I know what you are. I've watched you. I watched you retreat from being the bully I used to know. I watched you sneak into the library so you could do homework near me. I watched you, hiding, after you gave me the blackberry tea. I watched you hiding in the tree line after you saved me from that werewolf. And do you know what I see?"

Draco shook his head, barely able to breathe, something warm and bright expanding larger and larger in his chest until he thought it would burst from his ribs. And then Hermione Granger smiled at him, and everything in him exploded.

"I see what you are, Draco," she continued, her thumb sweeping back and forth across his cheekbone. "You are what they made you. You are capable of violence, and cruelty, and destruction. But you are also capable of goodness. You are capable of love. And despite what they made you to be, this is what you chose to be."

"I'm a weapon, Hermione. That's what I am."

She nodded, still smiling that radiant smile, and Draco was sure he burning to dust. "Yes, that's what you are. But that's not who you are. Do you know who you are, Draco?"

The answer was immediate. "Yours," he whispered, his own hand reaching up to take hers, laying a kiss in her palm as if praying for salvation. "I'm yours."

A flush of crimson rose to her cheeks, and Draco swallowed hard to keep control. But words were fighting to be heard, and he couldn't keep them quiet. "Don't you see? I may be a weapon, but I'm yours. I'm your weapon, to serve you, to do with what you will. I'm yours, all yours."

His control frayed, his emotions churning heavy and hot inside him, and Draco couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed her waist, pulling her hard against him. She gasped, her mouth right by his ear, and he was drunk with the feel of her, pressed up against him, every soft curve. One hand reached up, shifting those gorgeous, riotous curls to the side and bent his head to where her neck met her shoulder. He breathed, that hazelnut raspberry scent deliciously intoxicating, and he couldn't help himself. He kissed that spot, once, twice, three times. He bit gently, his tongue sneaking a lick or two and he was instantly addicted. He moved up her neck, eager for more of her taste, more of her scent, kissing and nipping and licking up to her ear. He nuzzled the spot behind her ear, feeling her tremble against him.

"Yours, Hermione. Yours."

He pulled back, wondering if he'd gone too far, until he saw her eyes. They had spiraled dark, the copper now a hungry bronze, and he almost growled in response. Her hand snuck to his neck and pulled his throat down to her mouth in a sharp move. His surprise shattered when she kissed his pulse point, setting her teeth into his jugular and he did growl, low and hungry.

"Mine," she whispered. "You're mine."

His control, already frayed, snapped.

His hand snuck into her curls, pulling her head back just far enough so he could crush his mouth against hers. He devoured her, savored her, she did taste just like strawberries and cream, and she whimpered, writhing against him desperate, just as ravenous as he. They tore apart for air, breathing in gulps, and Draco couldn't help a shiver of masculine pride to see her mouth lush and swollen, her eyes glazed and hot.

"There's more, Draco," she whispered, and his name was so sweet from her lips that he had to steal another kiss before he let her continue. "You must know, I never wanted to have someone serve me. Never wanted someone to be mine and mine alone."

He faltered then, pain seeping between his ribs, sharp and agonizing, but she kept him firm against her so he wouldn't run.

"I never wanted someone to be mine, you see, if I wasn't theirs."

The pain dissipated. Heat flared dark bright, and Draco couldn't breathe.

"Draco, don't you see?" Her eyes were golden with truth and something he'd never seen before. "I'm yours too. I'm yours."

He trembled, something long since dormant sparking inside him, clamoring to be heard. He had felt it all along, the ache in his bones, the pain in his chest, the hunger that never could be satisfied. He felt it in everything that he was, but he didn't know the name of it. But it overwhelmed him and he claimed her mouth again, savoring her taste.

"Mine," he murmured against her mouth, "Mine." She whimpered, tugging him even closer, pulling him until she was pressed against the portrait. Somehow he managed to remember the password, hearing nothing but her kittenish mewls until the portrait swung open and they nearly tumbled inside.

She laughed then, soft and warm, smiling at him with that look from before. It made her eyes sparkle even brighter in the moonlight, shimmering pale gold. She looked at him the same way he felt inside, joyous and passionate and hungry and possessive and impossibly sweet.

And Draco knew.

"You love me."

Hermione paused for a second, perfectly still in the moonlight, then nodded. "Yes," she said, her voice strong, without hesitation, "I love you."

There was nothing anymore. Nothing from his past to haunt the shadowed places inside of him, nothing of fear, nothing of doubt. He moved in front of her and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her softly, softer than anything he'd ever done in his life. She'd given him softness. She'd given him laughter. She'd given him her smile.

"I've never known love before," he whispered, the truth beating frantically in his throat, desperate to be released. She stared at him them, sorrow shadowing her gaze.

"I'm so sorry. I-"

He shook his head, interrupting her. "Don't be. Don't be. I've never known love before _you_. It's you, Hermione. It's you."

He held her against him, bending his head to her ear, kissing her cheek like a heartfelt prayer.

"I love you."

A tear whispered down her cheek, and in a sudden move, she claimed his mouth again. The heat was sharper now, desperate, needy, and Draco nearly lost his head when she raked her nails across his back, clawing to get closer. He was drunk on her taste, her scent, her delicious softness pressed against him. He was losing it again, hands shaking as he tried to maintain control. Then her hand snuck down his chest, scratching all the way, and he growled into her mouth.

"Please, Draco," she mewled, nipping at his Adam's apple. "Please. I need you. I love you. Please."

He lifted her then, her legs wrapping around his waist. He made it to his bedroom, and had enough control left in him to carry them to the bed. She was beneath him, tugging at his buttons and whispering his name. The next moment he was on his back, buttons scattered across the room, and Hermione was straddling his hips, smiling wicked.

"I might be yours, Draco," she crooned, nibbling her way from his chest to his collarbone. "But you were _mine_ first."

"Yours. Oh God, yours. Just please."

She smiled wider, one hand playing with the buttons of his trousers. "Please, what?"

Realizing her game, he bared his teeth in a feral grin, ripping that button up shirt until those buttons mingled with his own on the floor. He pulled her down and set his teeth into her throat, one hand sneaking up her thigh and beneath her skirt till she was writhing against his hand. His mouth made its way to her ear, sucking slightly.

"Please take me now or I'll have to take you."

Hermione was more than happy to oblige.

* * *

Slivers of light were just turning the room into dusky shadow. Draco was already awake, curled against Hermione sleeping soundly next to him. Her hair, that indescribable hair, was a wave of curls across the black silk of his pillow and every once in awhile he'd bury his face into those curls and breathe deep. He'd never get enough of her scent. Never. He watched the sunrise on her sleeping form. That milky gardenia skin was just touched with gold, and there were a few love bites on her shoulders that made him grin with pride. He reached a hand out, tentative, not wanting to wake her, but unable to keep himself from touching her any longer. He had never given thought to heaven before, but if there was a heaven, it was her, serving her, protecting her, loving her.

She stirred, toffee eyelashes fluttering, revealing sleepy copper eyes. With a sigh, she turned over and curled against him, resting her head on his chest and sneaking a leg between his. He held her tight against him, savoring every breathe she took, every slide of her skin against his. Even after last night, he was afraid it was a dream.

"It wasn't a dream."

Draco looked down at her, wrinkling his brow, startled. "I didn't say anything."

"I know," she murmured, kissing his chest, "but you were thinking it. I can tell."

He kissed the top of her head, smiling into her hair. "I'm that obvious? Say it isn't so."

"No, it's not like that." She lifted herself until they were eye to eye. Her eyes were even more gold in the glow of the morning, and Draco vowed to start every morning looking into those golden eyes.

She smiled, soft. "I just know you who you are, Draco. I know who you are."

A moment passed, and then he smiled, his hand finding hers and bringing it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm.

"I'm yours, Hermione. I'm yours."


	2. To Protect

_A/N: I had no intention of making this a series. It was three o clock in the morning, and I couldn't sleep without releasing all the pent up words churning inside me. After I had finished and posted what I had written, I realized that my one shot was the beginning of something bigger. And thanks to all the great reviews, I delved deeper inside me and found the story. Again, thanks to all who reviewed and, while I make no promises, I'll try to update soon. Enjoy!_

* * *

He could tell she was nervous. Her pulse was fluttering wild in her throat, but her smile was steady, her eyes sparkling. It had taken all their strength to pull themselves apart, though they had taken a detour to tumble into the shower. He had forced her to sit still so he could brush her hair, wondering endlessly at the ribbons of color glittering with water. It was damp now, beginning to tighten into curl, and her scent was doubly strong. They had distracted each other most thoroughly while dressing; she had tossed smirks over her shoulder while his fingers had wandered to her sides, tickling her furiously. But that didn't make her any less nervous. They would be late for morning classes if they didn't leave soon, but Draco wasn't concerned with anything but her.

"Hermione?"

She turned to him, her cheeks flush with joy. "Yes, Draco?"

Words stuck in his throat for a moment, hesitant. "Are you sure?"

She paused, utterly still in a shaft of sunlight, and she seemed like some mythic creature, a phoenix everlasting. Her eyes were serious for but a moment, then she smiled, and Draco was sure he was the one who would turn to ash, only to be reborn by her grace.

"Of course," she said matter of fact, turning her nose up in jest, "I want everyone to know that I have claimed Draco Malfoy for my very own. Pansy will hex herself in envy."

He laughed, such a foreign action that his muscles nearly hurt, it'd been so long since he'd had use for them. But the pain was overshadowed by the sweetness of finally having laughter, another gift from her.

"I'm sure she will, pet," Draco grinned, eager for mischief, "And Weasely will probably spontaneously combust where he stands."

She shot him a sharp look, trying to chastise, though her lips twisted in an effort to keep from smiling.

He sighed, resigning himself to his fate. A world with Hermione would have to include Potter and Weasely, and Draco couldn't live in a world without her, so he'd put up with the annoying duo. Entirely for her sake, of course.

"Well," he shrugged, pulling her in close and kissing her temple, "One can only hope."

"Oh," she pouted, before bursting into giggles, "You're a bad influence, Draco Malfoy."

He smirked, his fingers tightening on her hips. "Oh, am I?" His mouth slipped to her ear, worrying the lobe with his teeth as her nails dug into his shoulder and she let loose a little gasp that made him weak with hunger. "Let's see how very bad my influence can be."

One of her hands snuck into his hair and she pulled him to her mouth, his blood crackling with heat as she kissed him so thoroughly his head reeled. She pulled away, resting her forehead against his, obviously as dizzy as he.

"As tempting as that offer is," she murmured, stealing one more kiss before moving towards the portrait, a wicked grin on her face, "We wouldn't want to be late for class, now would we?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn't help a smile as he chased her out the portrait's opening. He settled in on her left, slightly behind, and she looked at him curiously.

"Why are you to my left? Isn't it Myrddin protocol that the stronger stand to the right?"

Of course she would know. It was Hermione. She knew everything.

In 824, Merlin, in the very dawn of the wizarding world, had created the Myrddin, the laws and protocol that established rules of conduct among wizards, and also between wizards and Muggles. It had been the ultimate law for almost eight hundred years. But in recent centuries, the Myrrdin had become ancient tradition, one that was respected but mostly ignored. Nowadays, it was all but forgotten.

Draco had found the tome, _The Myrrdin_, written by Merlin himself, when he'd snuck into the Restricted Section his third year. Something about that worn, red leather book had caught his attention, and he had stolen it without a second thought, just to quiet the pounding in his chest. Reading it had been like coming home, words bubbling up from the depths of his being to meet the words on the page, almost as if he'd written it himself. Since then, he had committed himself to the Myrrdin, though it had been like tearing himself in half, his Dark heritage screeching hatred at the ideals of compassion and service, courage and mercy. But something more ancient within him, still dark but richly powerful, had clung to those words, weaving them into the fabric of his being until it was as natural as breathing.

Knowing that Hermione was well aware of what had taken place last night, and what it would mean for the future, made his heart ache with joy.

According to the Myrrdin, they had established an unofficial _clamore_, a rite where one wizard swore service to another for life. Though Hermione had promised herself his, and Draco believed her, killing Dolohov had placed him in her service, and his words had begun the _clamore_. In order to make it binding, blood would be exchanged during a claim ritual, and he would be her sworn protector till death. And Draco would gladly submit when the time came.

"You're correct in that regard," Draco informed her, his fingers brushing spirals against her palm, "However, as I am the one who serves, my proper place is to your left. You are the stronger in this regard, for you hold my leash."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, and Draco fought the urge to drag her back to his room. "I don't own you. You're not my dog. I wouldn't want you to feel like a dog."

Draco laughed again, startling some students that were passing by, gawking at their more than friendly exchange. "Why, pet, you don't like the idea of me in a collar on my knees before you?" He bent low to her ear, growling a bit. "Ruff ruff."

She blushed wildly, the apples of her cheeks flushing rose. "Well, maybe it's not all that bad. But I still don't want you to feel like you're a servant."

"Oh, love, you silly thing," he chuckled, pulling her into a darkened corridor, away from prying eyes. Her back was against the stone wall, and she looked up with such trust that his bones ached, his skin three sizes to tight and sizzling with electricity. He clasped her hand in his, bringing it slowly to his mouth and kissing the palm, his tongue darting out to sneak a taste.

"It is two different things, to be a servant and to serve." He explained, murmuring against her palm. "Do not confuse the two. I'm sure we'll butt heads, and argue, and be completely pigheaded with each other. If you consider making a stupid decision, don't think for a second that I won't call you on it. But if you give me a true command, I will obey. If you are in danger, I will protect you at all costs. Even if it's from yourself."

Her nose wrinkled then, but her eyes remained serious, nodding just slightly. Draco kissed her palm again, and with deliberate movements, knelt on the ground before her feet. Her eyes followed, the bronze darkening with something ancient, something so terribly wise that Draco felt as if this were meant all along, since the beginning of time.

"So yes," he whispered, looking up at her from his knees, "I serve you. And only you. And always you. As long as you'll have me."

She smiled then, though her eyes remained ancient. "I will always have you, Draco, if you choose to serve."

She pulled him to his feet again, kissing him with a ferocity that made some feral instinct inside him snarl. She pulled back, her eyes once again flecked with gold, and she tugged him back into the hall.

"Come on," Hermione laughed, dragging him through the hall, "We're going to be late and Snape's going to kill us!"

The morning passed in a hazy blur, Draco so overwhelmed with emotion that he could barely concentrate on his studies. Hermione would send him little notes throughout the morning, paper mice scurrying onto his desk and unfolding into her delicate scrawls. Whispers had already begun to circulate, students gossiping among themselves about seeing Hermione Granger, the Princess of Gryffindor, and Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, holding hands. Someone, one nosy little Colin Creevey, had even caught sight of them sneaking a kiss between classes. Draco was unmoved by the whispers, sauntering through the hallways with the same air of cool indifference as always. His fellow Slytherins near hissed at him as he passed, and he returned them with a cold smile, promising pain. Most heeded his warning, but some slunk into the shadows, eyes glittering revenge. And if any stepped forward, Draco would be glad to meet them. He would do anything to protect her, even if it meant standing against his own.

It was time for lunch, and the rest of the students were inside, the Great Hall spilling over in raucous conversation. Draco had been kept late by an exasperating Professor Sprout, who was sputtering on and on about some herb and he'd nearly hexed himself just to escape her. He turned the corner, biting back a grin to see Hermione, perched just outside the Great Hall's entrance, wiggling with impatience. He snuck up behind her and grabbed her, burying his nose into the nape of her neck.

"Oh Merlin!" She squealed, turning around in his arms and smacking his chest. "You nearly scared the wits out of me, Draco!"

He laughed, kissing her forehead. "At least I can still manage scaring you sometimes. I still have to keep up appearances."

"Oh yes, Draco," she smirked, rolling her eyes, "you are so very, very evil. Can we eat now?"

"Damn straight I'm evil. And of course, darling." He winked mischief at her and she grinned, lacing her fingers through his. And with a deep breath, they walked into the Great Hall.

The silence that met them was taut, a fragile, crystal string. They walked together, falling into step with a natural grace, as if every eye in the room wasn't staring at them in shock. Even the professors were moved to silence. Draco glanced around, the hair at the back of his neck prickling in attention, every protective instinct inside him riled and ready. He noted the seething rage of his House, staring at him with eyes that screamed _traitor,_ but there was nothing they could do now, so he sent them a sweet, venomous smile, and moved on. His eyes swept up to the end of the room, memorizing the expressions of his professors. Snape was ghostly pale with contempt, Binns gawked over the edge of the table, and Hagrid had stopped in mid motion, turkey leg halfway to his mouth. But it was Dumbledore who gave Draco pause. He didn't look shocked, not even halfway surprised. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, but his expression was contemplative, and Draco made himself turn away.

They made their way to the Gryffindor table, and Draco almost broke that mask of cool indifference with hysterical laughter to see Potter and Weasely gaping at the two of them. Potter had gone white, his jaw dropped near to the table, and Weasely's face was the same garish red as his hair. Hermione seemed to take no notice, though her hand tightened in his. He sat down, across from Potter's trout imitation, but when she made the move to sit beside him, something in him surged protective, and he pulled her onto his lap, growling low in his throat. He could feel her relax against him, and he was put at ease, sneaking his arm around her waist as a shield.

The silence suddenly snapped, and the entire Hall went up in a clamor, everyone frantic to talk of what they had just witnessed. Hermione took no notice of them, and instead started buttering a bread roll.

"Uh… Hermione?"

It was Potter who had the courage to speak up first, though that shocked pallor had sickened to a fishy green. Weasely's face was turning darker and darker, and Draco couldn't help but tighten his arm around Hermione, ready for any attack.

"Yes, Harry?" She replied, handing Draco the roll she'd just buttered. He smiled, tearing a chunk off with his teeth.

The Boy who Lived stuttered, actually stuttered. "You realize that's Malfoy, right? You know, evil Malfoy? The one who's called you that nasty name since our first year? The one who tried to make our lives a living hell? That Malfoy?"

Draco could practically hear her roll her eyes. "Harry, I haven't lost my wits, I know exactly who Draco is. It's you who don't know him, not really."

Harry swallowed, looking as if he'd eaten a blast ended skrewt. "Draco? He's Draco now?"

"Well, that's his name, Harry," Hermione explained in an aristocratic drawl that almost rivaled Draco's. He felt himself swell with pride. "We're sixth years now. It's time to put aside petty rivalries."

"Looks like you've done more than put aside a rivalry."

Draco's gaze slid to Weasely, whose fists were clenched ivory on the table. The boy's eyes were narrowed, and something dark flickered in his expression. Draco felt every protective instinct inside him rising urgent, while his power began spiraling dark inside him, preparing.

"Ron, you don't know him," Hermione began, voice quiet with strength, "You can't judge him on what he did years ago, or what his family's done. I know what he is better than anyone, but I also know who he is."

Ron spat, indignant. "He must have tricked you. He must have cursed you into believing that he's some reformed hero because there's no way you'd actually believe that."

Hermione quivered against him, but Draco could sense it was from annoyance, not fear. "Do you really think me that stupid, Ron? This is no trick, no curse. You're blinded by your prejudices and I find that intolerable." She shifted then, and Draco was caught in those eyes again, flickering topaz. "I have taken the time to actually know him, and now that I do, I-"

She turned back to Ron, her voice fierce, almost snarling. "I love him."

The moment clung to silence, and Draco closed his eyes, overwhelmed. She had declared her love for him in front of her dearest friends, the entire school. If there had been any slivers of doubt, they had been utterly destroyed.

"Disgusting."

Draco's eyes snapped open to see Weasely standing up, shaking his head furiously, wand gripped in his shaking hand.

"That's disgusting," Weasely spewed, glowering at them with hatred, "He's a filthy Death Eater, and you love him? You're just as disgusting as he is."

And Draco's last shred of control frayed to the shattering point.

The Great Hall darkened, candles reduced to tiny tongues of flame. Ice crept from between the cracks in the stone walls and spread, slick and black and shimmering arctic, frost glistening gray on the window panes. The air turned crystal thin and wintry, breaths curling ivory wisps, as the Hall was stripped bare of sound, light, and warmth.

Draco felt nothing but frozen rage, ebon ice splintering in his bone marrow, painful and oh so sweet. He kept his gaze fixed on Weasely, his sleepy smile a biting contrast to the feral silver of his eyes. Magic itched in his veins, snarling for release, desperate to protect the one who claimed him, the one who gave his life meaning.

"Oh, Weasely," Draco crooned, poisoned sugar, "Don't you understand? If you hurt her, if you cause her the merest ache in her heart, I will do anything to protect her. Even if that means killing you."

Weasely sputtered, indignant. "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about, Hermione. He's a killer! He just admitted it!"

Draco felt Hermione quiver again, but this time it wasn't out of annoyance. She was trying very hard not to let the hurt show, but the pain seeped from her skin and mingled with her scent, bittersweet. The darkness rose in him, churning electric, so close to striking that Draco's vision wavered.

"I gave you the courtesy of a warning, Weasely," Draco hissed, coiled and ready to be unleashed, "I don't want to have to kill you. But I will. I promise."

"I can't believe you, Hermione." Weasely was pale with temper, his freckles standing out like bright dark spots on his cheeks. "And this is the guy you claim to-"

"Stand down, Mister Weasely."

Dumbledore's voice rang out through the Great Hall, cutting off Weasely's tirade in mid shriek. Draco could feel the Headmaster's presence walking toward them, but the dark rage held him fast, screaming at him to protect, to avenge, to destroy. Dumbledore's aura was like a silver light, and Draco sensed him stop a few paces from him, unafraid but aware.

"Mister Weasely, please, do sit down and be quiet." Dumbledore's voice was keen as a blade and to the point. "We've managed to get this far this year without someone being killed or cursed or possessed at this school and I will not have you tarnish that record. Now, sit down!"

Weasely obeyed, ivory with shock, trembling with something like shame. The rage rippled, unsure, then that silver aura touched him and the darkness calmed, retreating to the depths until called upon again. The ice melted, leaving puddles on the stone floor, the candles burning bright once more. The world wavered into view once again, and Draco became aware of his surroundings. He felt Hermione trembling against him, and his hand snuck to hers, squeezing gently in reassurance.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, laying a kiss into her palm, worried that he was the cause of her trembling.

She gave him a strange look, then smiled, and all of his fears were laid to dust. "Of course, I am. I have you."

"Mister Malfoy."

Draco stiffened, turning to meet the calm gaze of the Headmaster. Dumbledore's eyes were a fathomless blue, but there was no anger, no disgust, and something coiled tightly in him relaxed. There would be no judgment here.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, a mischievous twinkle brightening his features. "I think it may be best for you and Miss Granger to enjoy a private lunch on the school grounds. By the lake, perhaps?"

Knowing an order, no matter how kindly put, when he heard one, Draco nodded. Hermione rose to her feet and Draco followed, falling to her left as if he'd been there all his life. Seeing something that no one else could, Dumbledore grinned, chuckling to himself.

"Well I'll be a purple Pygmy Puff." Dumbledore scanned the room, noting the shocked faces staring back at him. "Well? Get to eating. Can't let those treacle tarts go to waste."

Draco took the cue, grabbing Hermione's hand, and they were gone from the Great Hall. They didn't talk, didn't even look at each other, until the lake was in sight and no other soul could be seen. They both sighed in relief, taking refuge beneath a giant willow tree. Draco leaned against it, Hermione settled between his legs and resting her back against his chest. And all the tension rushed out of them into nearly tangible puddles of muck on the ground.

"I'm sorry about Ron," she began, tilting her head so her mouth rested close to his pulse point. "He was being a bloody wanker about the whole thing."

Draco chuckled, pulling her even closer against him, taking comfort in the golden warmth of her presence. "I think that might be the first time I've heard you curse like that. It's rather adorable."

She smiled, he could feel the warmth of it on his skin, like sunlight. "I try not to. I can come up with much better insults without having to resort to common vulgarities. But in truth, that's how he was acting." She paused then, the smile fading to a whisper. "I didn't want him to hurt you."

"Hurt me?"

"Of course," she murmured, her fingers tracing patterns on his collarbone. "All those nasty things he said. He was trying to hurt you. It hurt me because he was trying to hurt you."

"Oh, love." He kissed her forehead, burying his nose into her hair and breathing in the scent of raspberries and hazelnuts. "He could never hurt me. The only way to hurt me is through you, don't you understand?"

She lifted her head them, catching him in her hawk eyes. "That's not true, Draco. You're not just a mere extension of me. There are things that hurt you because it's _you_. That doesn't make the pain any less. And Ron was wrong to do it. I'm sorry."

He kissed her then, trying to convey all that he felt, the words tangled up in his chest. He savored her slow, lingering, memorizing every breath, every shudder. Kissing her was a perfection he would never find elsewhere, not in power, or money, or in all the world. His existence was defined by the sweetness of her kiss.

Something crept into his awareness, a sliver of shadow, and with some reluctance he pulled away. He was about to murmur something apologetic when he noticed her eyes had darkened ancient once more. She moved to her feet, and he watched her as she took one, two steps out from underneath the tree's boughs. His senses prickled, then flared a warning, and he was by her side, wand at the ready. He could sense them, shadows writhing, solidifying into shape. In a moment he had spiraled deep again, transformed into her weapon, made for destruction, sworn to her protection. But she touched his wrist and he stayed his hand.

"Wait." She whispered, eyes glittering feral and wise. "Wait."

He waited. They shadows slid toward them, and there were three Dementors, gliding above the ground with smoke spinning acrid in their wake. The world was slowly veiled, sorrow and pain and despair welling to the surface, but Draco was kept grounded by that soft, strong hand holding his wrist. She looked at him, with those lustrous, ancient eyes, and he nodded, understanding the silent command. She looked toward the Dementors, shrieking anguish, the lake turning to ice beneath them, and she walked forward, hands empty by her sides. The creatures hissed and surrounded her, cackling, their jaws sliding open to reveal the abyss where souls were trapped in agony. She just faced them, and slowly raised her hands.

"Ag chyneua alltudia 'ch." The foreign words sang through the air likes chimes, and Draco felt them ring powerful in his blood. Something in him rushed to the surface, crying for release, but it wasn't the violence, the darkness. It was something else. Something alive. "Ag cara anrheithia 'ch."

The Dementors were screeching rage, but Draco saw how they kept their distance. There was a metallic scent clinging to the chilled air, and Draco realized that they were afraid.

"Ewyllysia mo ad 'ch at ddioddef 'r byd unrhyw 'n bellach." Draco watched her, transfixed, as her skin glimmered an iridescent light, and he nearly fell to his knees in awe. She raised her hands to them, and that same light condensed at her palms, pulsing luminous.

"Lux Lucis Evanescus!"

Light exploded, pouring from her hands and eclipsing the entire landscape. Draco shielded his eyes, but his heart thrummed with triumph, watching the Dementors dissolve in the radiant tide. The light spread, dissipated, until nothing was left but shimmering dust. Hermione stood in the center, still glittering with power, though her shoulders quivered from exertion. He approached her, laying a hand gently on her shoulder, and she collapsed against him, utterly spent. He held her, worry sharpening inside him, when she sent him a trembling smile.

"See? I can protect you too."

He shook his head, his mouth twisting into a half smile, and he swung her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. "I never doubted it for a second, Hermione."

It wasn't a long way to the medical ward, though Draco wished Madame Pomfrey wouldn't ask so many questions he wasn't sure how to answer. Lies welled up inside him, but one withering glare from Hermione made him stick to half truths instead. Madame Pomfrey had rushed to inform Dumbledore, and Draco was content sitting at Hermione's bedside, his thumb sweeping circles in her palm. She had fallen asleep almost immediately, but Draco could sense that she wasn't harmed, so his thoughts had full reign to dissect what had occurred earlier.

She had been magnificent, radiating light, her eyes ancient and her hair crackling with magical energy. Draco had been transfixed, overwhelmed by her and the power she had wielded. It sung to every corner of his being, lighting places that had always been in darkness, calling him to offer his blood as her own, as if it were already her own. She possessed something beyond magic, something more primitive, and it called to that same ancient power that dwelled in him, shadow to her sunlight. Knowledge flickered inside him, but it was as if it were written in a foreign tongue, one that he had yet to understand. All he knew was that he was hers, had always been hers, and would always be.

"Ah, Draco, it's finally coming to pass."

Draco lifted his head and fell straight into the knowing gaze of Albus Dumbledore. His protective instincts rankled, shifting closer to the sleeping Hermione, but Dumbledore made no move to get closer, as if he were keenly aware of the feeling battling inside Draco.

"Draco," Dumbledore began, voice turning serious, "I have but one question and one question only. Who are you?"

The reponse was immediate, natural. Right. "Hers. I'm hers."

The old wizard smiled, blue eyes sparkling. "Yes, I believe you are. As you always have been. Till next time, Draco." He began his exit from the hospital wing, then stopped, turning just over his shoulder. "Keep her safe, Draco. Protect her."

"Always."

The door closed behind Dumbledore, and Draco felt a small, warm hand squeeze his own. He turned, and was welcomed by her eyes, liquid copper and gold once more.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy," she whispered, eyes flashing ancient. He felt himself pulse, something inside him awakening just a little bit more. Something just as ancient.

"And I love you, Hermione Granger."

* * *

_A/N: Hermione's speech was Welsh. Translated: "With light I banish you. With love I destroy you. I will not allow you to suffer the world anymore." At least that's what it should be. And her spell, which I created, is Latin, loosely translated to "Disappear into Light."_


	3. To Honor

_A/N: As promised, an update. Reviews inspire the muse ^_^_

* * *

Even as the sun set, the sky melting slowly into indigo, Draco refused to leave her side. She had slipped into sleep again, her chest rising and falling with every breath, and he was utterly fascinated by it. Her pulse fluttered languid in her throat, and he could feel its echo in her wrist as he traced circles there. Her hair was burning strands of crimson in the firelight, marking her as phoenix, healing him with her tears, raising him from the dead.

He felt more than heard the conflict taking place outside the medical ward. Then the door slammed open, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the calm before the storm.

"What's he doing here?"

He turned his head just enough to see a smoldering Weasely and a stone-faced Potter at his back. He shifted closer to Hermione, refusing to let down his guard, the power inside him beginning to coil like a Basilisk preparing to strike.

"Mister Weasely!" Madame Pomfrey appeared next to the pair with annoyance flickering electric around her. "I let you in on the one stipulation that you remain quiet and you're already raising your voice. And you, Mister Potter, contain your friend or I'll throw you both out!"

And with that, she flounced away, leaving Draco to deal with the annoying duo. Weasely's ire had not dimmed, as the color of his face still shimmered scarlet, but Potter's eyes glinted something unfathomable. However, Draco was in no mood to analyze it.

Of course, it was Weasely who snapped first. "You have no right being here, Malfoy. Get the bloody hell out of here!"

"Oh?" Draco sneered contempt. "I have no right? I wasn't the one who claimed to be her friend and then humiliated her in front of the entire school. You don't deserve her."

"And you do?"

Draco let loose a self deprecating smile, turning back to the sleeping Hermione, unaware of the conflict brewing as she dreamed. "No," he murmured, grasping her hand in his, "Not in the least. She's everything that's good in this world, and I'm-"

His words trickled into nothing, as the reminder of his dark heritage sharpened inside him, honing him to the keenest edge. His gaze slid back to Weasely, narrowed and inhumanly cold.

"I'm not someone you want to trifle with."

Weasely snorted in mean humor. "Threats, Malfoy? How like a filthy Death Eater." Weasely made a step forward, and Draco tensed, dark power near bursting inside his chest, threatening to tear his veins at the seams. The urge to protect was rising to the killing edge, snapping at the leash. One more step…

"Well," Weasely snickered, ignorant of the currents of power churning inside the blonde wizard, "I don't listen to the threats of Death Eaters." Weasely leaned forward, and Draco's control was just about to snap.

"Ron."

Draco's focus shifted to Potter, whose hand had a steel grip on Weasely's arm. Weasely's face paled with shock, but Potter's gaze was unwavering, green eyes darkening to a shadowed jade. The moment slid by, and Weasely scowled, storming out of the medical ward without a word. Draco felt the darkness recede into his bone marrow, relaxed but alert. Potter was looking at him with a strange expression, as if he knew all there was to know and needed no explanation.

"You love her, don't you?" Potter asked, but it wasn't really a question.

Draco nodded, wary. "Yes, I do."

Those green eyes flashed again, almost ancient, but not. Wise like Dumbledore. Kind like Hermione. Powerful like him.

"When I was younger," Potter began, keeping his distance, "I believed that there was nothing good in Slytherin. No courage, no compassion, no honor. So I nearly wore myself to death wondering why the Sorting Hat would contemplate making me a Slytherin."

Resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow in surprise, Draco kept his face a neutral mask, digesting that piece of information. Potter almost a Slytherin? Would wonders never cease.

Potter continued, his voice taking on a sarcastic edge, "It took me a long time to let go of my early prejudices, which I have to say, you had a large part in forming."

Draco couldn't resist a smirk at that.

"And I realized that a Slytherin's greatest loyalty was to the self, to fulfilling your own ambitions and not letting any obstacle stand in your way." Potter stopped for a moment, his eyes emerald steel, and Draco could almost see what others saw when they looked at the Chosen One. "And when a Slytherin gives their word, it's their greatest bond. Because to break their word would be a betrayal of that self."

Something ancient stirred within Draco at those words, and he wondered if Potter had somehow read _The Myrrdin_ as well.

"Draco Malfoy." Potter's voice was raw iron, commanding instant attention. "Do you give your word of honor that you will let no harm come to Hermione Granger, even if it is from yourself?"

The word honor shot deep inside his core, tangling with that something ancient that readily welcomed it, binding it together until it was indistinguishable from the other. The power rose, but it wasn't with anger, it was with purpose.

"Yes, I do," he whispered.

The power extended, welling up within every corner of the room, and then dissipated, satisfied. Draco felt a connection materialize from the depths, an iron cord spinning between the two, like calling to like. With a sigh, it became stone braided with steel, and the annoying Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy who Just Wouldn't Die, became Harry. An ally. Kindred.

"I should go," Harry said, shuffling slightly, "Ron's likely to hex himself stupid and I really don't want to clean up the mess."

Draco grinned, mischief sparking in his gaze. "I don't know. I think it might be worth it."

With an answering smirk, Harry made to leave the room, then stopped. He turned, and emerald clashed with silver. "See you, Draco. Take care of her."

"Always."

And Harry was gone. Draco stared after him, contemplative, when a small, warm hand squeezed his. He looked and fell into copper eyes, shining warmth.

"Thank you, Draco," Hermione murmured, smiling sleepy.

Draco shifted beneath her stare, almost sheepish. "For what?"

"For Harry," she said, twirling her fingers in his, "He's one of my very best friends. I'm glad that you would put aside the past for me. I didn't want to have to choose between you."

"Oh, love." He stood, laying a kiss like a prayer on her brow before finding her mouth, passion a soft whisper inside him. "I would never make you choose."

"I know." She pulled him close, kissing softly behind his ear, breathing in his scent until he felt light headed. "But if I had to, I would choose you. I love you."

He kissed her again, letting his passion flare a little brighter, a little hotter, nipping at her lips until they were a swollen rose. He pulled back slightly, and smiled to see her eyes soft with sleep again. Once more, he kissed her forehead, his fingers tensing in her own, the thought of leaving her even for a moment blooming painful in his chest.

"Draco, you must leave at least for a little while." He shot into her gaze, panic surging inside him, but she was calm, mouth set in a bossy pout. "I know you have homework to do and could use some sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

"But-"

"No buts," she interrupted, grinning despite herself, "It's alright. But I expect to see your face the moment I wake up in the morning. So be early."

Draco smiled ruefully, rolling his eyes, but knowing he would obey. He kissed her one last time, languid and sensual, a sinful promise. "As you wish, pet. Sweet dreams."

"You too."

He left her side just as her eyes fluttered close, slipping into sleep. The corridors were dark but for some burning candles, flickering against the shadows. He couldn't make himself return to his room quite yet. Restless energy skittered beneath his skin, making him itch, his senses extra sensitive. He heard a few students whispering to themselves, trying to avoid Filch after curfew. He saw Mrs. Norris sneak into his peripheral vision, but he hissed a warning and she scurried off. There was something in the air, a sort of uneasiness; it made a sour taste in his mouth. Shaking it off, he turned down the hall towards his room when he heard a hastily drawn breath. He almost paused, but instead kept walking, extending his senses in creeping tendrils. It was easy to find them, hiding in the shadows, wands clenched and eyes frothy with malice. Well, it would be rude to keep them waiting.

"What is this?" He crooned, the silver of his eyes freezing sharp. "My House all gathered to welcome me back? You shouldn't have."

A muttered curse, then they crept out of their hiding places. Blaise, Pansy, Millicent, Crabbe and Goyle, Theodore Nott. They circled him, wands at the ready, faces ugly with hatred and triumph. They thought that outnumbering him would easily subdue him. Such fools.

"You don't deserve to be in Slytherin, Muggle-lover," Blaise spat, stepping forward as speaker of the mob. Draco smiled, sweetly cruel, feeling the darkness spiral deep inside him, hungry for blood.

"And you do?" Draco murmured, raising a sardonic brow. "I was under the impression that the serpent represented Slytherin. I see no serpents here. No, you all are muddy worms at my feet."

"Shut up, traitor!" Nott made a move to his right, and Draco narrowed his focus on the dark haired wizard seething in rage. "You betrayed us all! You betrayed the Dark Lord!"

Draco shrugged, casual, tossing his silver blonde hair back. "You can imagine how very much I care," he drawled.

Pansy huffed, raising her wand, something like jealousy curdled in her eyes. "I can't believe you would soil your hands with a Mudblood. It's disgusting."

His fury sharpened instantly, and a bolt of power shot past Pansy and slammed into the stone wall, crumbling into a large crater. The mob tensed in panic, and Draco almost smiled in pleasure as he tasted their fear sweetening the air.

"Hermione Granger is ten times the witch you'll ever be, Pansy." Draco's voice lowered to a predatory hush, his teeth bared in lethal intent. "She is worth more than you can even imagine. And if anyone dares to even think of harming her, I will kill you all."

Blaise chuckled, though his pulse thundered loudly in his throat. "The Dark Lord does more than dare. But you'll find out soon enough."

"Oh, do you mean Antonin Dolohov?" Draco asked, watching the mob around him pale. "You're right. He did think to harm Hermione Granger. Which is why he's very dead now."

Smelling their fear suddenly spike, an intoxicating scent, Draco laughed, arctic cold. "Killing Dolohov was easy enough. Killing the rest of you will barely be exercise."

"Draco."

The voice came from the darkness, and in an instant, Harry Potter was at his side. They fell into defensive stances, back to back, almost as if they'd done this dance many times before. It felt as natural as breathing. Draco, the blade, Harry, the shield. One made to destroy, one meant to protect.

"Nice of you to join, Potter. Though it wasn't anything I couldn't handle," Draco smirked, the bitter chill of his rage thawing ever so slightly.

Harry shrugged behind him, but Draco could feel Harry rise to the edge, his power a brilliant green, pulsing with life. "I don't doubt that for a minute, Draco. But Hermione would have my head if you came back with even the littlest scratch. That's if these idiots could manage that much damage."

"Arrogant, much?" Millicent snorted, pretending at bravado, though her pig like features quivered in fear. "What did you think, that Draco would just splatter us all over the walls with a snap of his fingers?"

"Of course not," Harry responded, though his voice had darkened with scorn, "He wouldn't splatter. You've pissed him off way too much for him to be that kind."

Silence thickened, apprehension sizzling beneath the surface. Draco had delved deep inside himself where nothing dwelled but ebon frost and hatred, mercy and compassion meaningless words. A blade of burning silver in the darkness, ready to stain the walls with blood. But there was Harry behind him, grounding him, keeping him from snapping his control. Harry, whose power was raised to shield rather than strike, who stayed his hand because he could never forget compassion. Harry forced him to remember. Harry kept him leashed. Barely.

Blaise looked at his fellow Slytherins, fear plainly writ on his features, and Millicent was the first to bolt, the rest following. Soon, there was nothing but echoes and shadows. Draco let loose a trembling sigh, the oxygen racing through his nerve endings, calming the rapid beat of his heart. Darkness sank into his marrow, peaceful now that the threat was gone, though electric pulses of power still itched at his fingertips. Harry chuckled, shaking his head, and both finally relaxed.

"Nice people, Slytherins. Always there to brighten the mood," Harry snickered.

Draco snorted, narrowing his eyes, though his lips were quirked in humor. "Because that's our goal in life, to make the sun shine out of your ass."

"Nice image, Draco. Thanks."

"Always a pleasure, Potter."

They lapsed into silence once more, the reality of the grim situation not lost on either of them. Draco would have killed his fellow students, steeped the castle in their blood, all for threatening Hermione. And Harry would have let him. But the price would have been too high.

"Ah, Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy."

They whirled around, immediately on the defense, but they relaxed when they saw Dumbledore strolling down the corridor. The next moment, they tensed, cursing beneath their breath. The Headmaster himself had caught them after curfew. They were, in a word, screwed.

Dumbledore approached them with an easy smile, but his gaze was sharp, aware. "It is wonderful to see you two on my walk. I do enjoy a little stroll after dark, to enjoy the quiet, the moonlight. I suppose that's why you both are out."

Draco and Harry looked at each other, then turned to the Headmaster and nodded quickly.

"Of course," Dumbledore chuckled at some private joke, "Well, you better be off, Harry. Draco and I have some things to discuss."

Draco swore in a hush, catching Harry's gaze. Harry shrugged, something like an apology lurking beneath the surface, and he retreated down the hall and out of sight. Draco swallowed, hanging his head in defeat, when Dumbledore caught him off guard.

"Have you and Hermione completed the _clamore_ yet?"

Draco's head snapped up, shock stiffening his joints. Dumbledore was as calm as ever, though there was a solemnity beneath the mischievous sparkle in his eye. Merlin's beard, did everyone know the Myrddin?

"Not yet, sir," Draco admitted, still somewhat suspicious. Dumbledore just nodded, stroking his beard like a cat, his eyes on some faraway thought. Then his gaze caught Draco's again, and something deep in Draco stirred at what he saw there.

"After all these years, it's finally time. I just hope you're ready for it." Dumbeldore began walking down the hall, motioning him to follow. "Come, Draco. We have much to discuss."

Draco moved to Dumbledore's left, walking just slightly behind, and Dumbledore chuckled softly. They were silent as they trekked through the castle, and Draco's head was a tangle of thoughts. It didn't surprise him that Dumbledore knew the Myrddin, and adhered to the old ways, but what made the man mention the _clamore_? Was it so obvious? And what was it finally time for? Draco knew it wasn't the _clamore_ that Dumbledore referred to, but he had no guess as to what it was. As they made their way to the Headmaster's office, Draco felt nervous excitement spark through his veins. Anticipation churned deep inside him, his skin itching too tight and his magic dancing impatient within him. It was as if he were asleep but so close to waking that his entire being made ready for the morning.

Dumbledore motioned for him to enter his office, and Draco ducked inside. He'd never been inside before, and warmth surged in his chest at the privilege. Dumbledore moved to his desk, sitting behind it, and with one hand gesture, Draco found himself seated, though it was an effort to keep still, with everything inside him clamoring for what was to come.

"Draco," Dumbledore began, clasping his hands together, "What I'm going to tell you now has been kept secret for many, many years. But it is imperative that you are made aware, because I'm afraid that without the knowledge, something disastrous could occur."

Draco shifted, pain a sharp tang in his throat at the accusation. "Professor, if you think that I'd do something-"

Dumbledore lifted a hand, and Draco felt the words dissipate on his tongue. "It's not what you would purposefully do, Draco. It's what your nature would demand of you. Like the death of Antonin Dolohov was demanded of you."

Draco twitched, something like shame curdling inside him, wary of Dumbledore's reaction. "Professor, I-"

Once again, Dumbledore silenced him with a look. "Dolohov's death has been reported as an act of self defense, where I had no choice but to strike him down. Do not apologize for your nature, Draco. It is not necessary. However, in order to control yourself, you must be made aware of what you are. Which is why I must reveal that nature to you tonight."

Dumbledore leaned back, stroking his beard, his eyes staring at something beyond the room. "As you well know, the first wizard to ever walk to earth was Merlin. He was born to two Muggles, though that term didn't exist at the time, but he also born to a time of great superstition, and almost all people believed in magic. While he had a great many achievements, his greatest was the writing of the Myrddin, a set of protocols to which all wizards would adhere to. But Merlin did not come to these laws by himself. Indeed, there were already a great many who already followed those laws, and they gave them to Merlin in a promise of friendship."

Dumbledore turned his gaze, and Draco was caught, his breath a heavy stone in his throat. "Draco, do you know anything about dragons?"

The question flared inside him, bright and hot, and Draco could barely nod, gripped by the power running rampant through him.

"Dragons, as we know them, while glorious creatures, are still creatures," Dumbledore continued, seemingly unaware of Draco's plight, "They have no consciousness, no self, nothing that makes human beings what they are. But the old tales speak of dragons that could communicate with humans, that had powerful magic, dragons that were more than fire and destruction. However, these were not dragons. They were the Drakon."

Draco gasped, clutching his chest as the ancient power within him roared triumph, making him lightheaded as power crackled in the air around him. His breath was harsh, his hands shaking, but his bones nearly splintered with savage joy. He glanced up, and Dumbledore was watching him with just a quirk of his mouth indicating a smile.

"The Drakon were an ancient race, the overlords of the dragons. They were a wise and honorable race. They were also very powerful, the likes of which humanity could barely grasp. They had the power to split time, to journey through past and future. They were the first shape shifters, and many of them walked among the human race undetected. But they were few in number, because the only way the Drakon could mate and reproduce was in human form. The female Drakon was only vulnerable during her pregnancy, which is why it was a grave decision to have offspring. They had survived millennia, unseen by mankind, mistaken for dragons, when they heard of a man possessing magic such as theirs. It was Adaum, the Lord of the Drakon, who approached Merlin, offering him counsel should he pass their sacred rites, to show his worth."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped over his chest. "Merlin passed their tests, and Adaum gifted to him their ancient law. It was originally named in the Drakon's tongue, which is impossible for humans to pronounce, so Merlin renamed them the Myrddin. As wizards and witches grew in number, they were taught the laws of the Myrddin, and Adaum gave his word of honor that Drakon and wizard would remain allies for all time. It became custom for the Drakon to don their human form and enter school alongside human wizards, so they would strengthen the bonds between wizard and Drakon as well as study magic. Unfortunately, over the centuries the Drakon have considerably lessened in number, and thus our oath of friendship with them is all but forgotten by most of the wizarding world."

"Professor," Draco interrupted, his pulse thundering in his skull like a war drum, so close to revelation he shook with anticipation, "there's something you're not telling me. What does this have to do with me?"

Dumbledore sighed, his face aging with that intake of breath, something dark staining the blue of his eyes. "What do you know of your mother's family?"

Draco shrugged, but curiosity flickered in him. "She was originally a Black. We were never particularly close, but I knew Grandfather Cygnus and Grandmother Druella."

"Ah, Druella Rosier," Dumbledore grinned, though his eyes remained serious, "One of my finest students. Sharp mind, sharper tongue. Of no relation to the Death Eater Evan Rosier, though many believe that to be the case. She has nearly no family tree to speak of, if you check the records, and it's passing odd that a Black, so obsessed with blood purity, would marry someone with no ancestry. It's even more strange that Druella was recorded to have three children on the Black family tree, when hospital records only show one child being born of Druella and Cygnus."

Draco sat back in his chair, confused. He had never been close to Grandmother Druella, his father wasn't keen on family gatherings, but he remembered more than one instance when she would look at him, her silver eyes sharp, and Draco had felt a kinship with her that he could not explain. He also remembered that while Grandmother Druella doted on his mother, she could barely disguise her hatred for Lucius Malfoy.

"I'm not sure you're aware, Draco, but your aunts Bellatrix and Andromeda were not born of Druella Rosier."

Draco couldn't help the shock slamming into his chest. "What? Does that mean they're not my aunts? Who's their mother then?"

"A pureblood maid named Yasandra Halifax," Dumbledore explained, stroking his beard like it was a favored pet, "After years of trying, Druella never managed to get pregnant and this just wouldn't do. In order to protect the Black family line, Cygnus begot two children with Miss Halifax, first Bellatrix, then Andromeda. This was kept a secret from the family, and I'm not sure Bellatrix or Andromeda ever knew."

"Professor," Draco interrupted, his thoughts running to keep up, "What about my mother?"

Dumbledore nodded, trapping Draco in his gaze once more. "Druella finally became pregnant and bore a daughter, Narcissa. And after the birth, Druella was infertile, unable to have any other children. It was Narcissa who inherited her power from her mother. And it was Narcissa who passed it to you."

Something welled up in Draco's throat, powerful, unyielding. "What does that mean, Professor?"

"Druella Rosier was not human, Draco. She was Drakon. As is your mother. As are you."

Truth sang in his blood, roaring affirmation, the darkness rising up triumphant in every corner of his being. Fire danced on his nerve endings, air burning in his lungs, but it wasn't painful, it was victory. More than victory, it was exultation. Every question answered, every doubt destroyed. In all the years of searching, Draco finally knew himself.

He was Drakon.

"It's true," Draco whispered, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair, breaths ragged in his chest, "I can feel it. I know it. I've always known it."

"This is your nature, Draco." Dumbledore leaned forward, his elbow resting on the desk, and Draco could swear he heard a warning beneath the gentle tone. "You are Drakon, and therefore your inner nature is not human. It had slowly awakened within you, but it wasn't until what happened yesterday in the Great Hall that I knew it was time to reveal this to you. Unlike your fellow students, you possess a magic far more powerful and far darker than you realize. Your instincts are much more savage, more predatory. You are not human, after all."

Draco nodded, but something was itching in the back of his mind, something that made him uneasy. The question surfaced, and came tumbling from his mouth before he could stop it. "Why didn't she tell me?"

The old wizard sighed, knowing of whom Draco spoke. "Narcissa was an impetuous youth. Her joy was fiery, her temper hot, and when she fell in love, it was the same. She loved Lucius with her whole heart, and it was a passion that could burn the world to dust. And do not doubt Draco, that your father also loved your mother. But when Narcissa revealed her true self to him, Lucius became deathly afraid of losing her. Despite her promises, he could not believe that a Drakon would lower herself to stand beside him. So he searched for the darkest magic, and happened upon a spell that would bind her to him, forever. And not only that, it kept her trapped as a human, unable to transform into her true Drakon form. Their love for each other has thus been overshadowed."

Draco shuddered; rage surged inside him, but it wasn't that arctic frost that held no compassion. No, it was tainted with grief, and Draco felt that sorrow pierce his core, the darkness inside him roaring in savage anguish. To have your freedom torn away by one you loved, the thought was unbearable. The grief sharpened, hungry for vengeance, and Draco was sure if his father were to walk into the room, he'd kill him without hesitation.

"How dare he?" Draco snarled, his nails tearing into the wooden arms of the chair, the dark power snapping vicious inside him, "How could he do such a thing?"

In an instant, Dumbledore was at his side, his hand firm on his shoulder, and Draco sighed in relief as the silver presence soothed the raging tide, calming him until the power once more rested in his bones. He slumped, exhausted, too much energy spent in harnessing that power within him. Dumbledore sighed, taking a step back and leaning against his desk, hands resting in front of him.

"I tell you these things, Draco, because dark times are ahead of us." Dumbledore voice was dark with foreboding, a shadowed whisper of things to come. "Lucius had promised you to Voldemort many years ago. You have been honed and whetted for this end. You were forged by hatred, sharpened by malice. You would have been Voldemort's most powerful weapon, a Drakon bound by his dark will. We would have been lost."

Images flashed in front of Draco, snap shots of a future that could have been. He saw himself, clad in a black robe, eyes like frozen iron, as he struck down the Dark Lord's foes. He saw London burning, black fire licking the coal smeared skies. He saw Dumbledore fall to protect Hogwarts, the silver power flickering into nonexistence. He saw Harry's emerald eyes go dull, broken and bloody at the Dark Lord's feet. And the last image, so pungent in his mind he could smell the blood and the dirt and the stench of death, was her, crumpled on the ground like an ill-treated doll, limbs at odd angles. Her hair was streaked with mud and smoke, but her scent still lingered, raspberries and hazelnut, though it was slowly becoming fouled, like a fruit rotting in the sun. Her eyes, those gorgeous hawk eyes, were murky brown mud, no longer warm with golden devotion, no longer the deep copper of ancient wisdom. And he saw himself there, standing beside her corpse, the killing magic still burning in his fingertips, and Draco finally realized everything that he was and everything he could have been.

He would have been Hermione Granger's executioner. And he would have felt nothing.

The images faded, Dumbledore's office refocusing in his view, and a strange sort of anguish gripped his heart, icy fingers wringing the organ in painful pulses. He breathed in, slow, the air a sweet relief, the pain ebbing into ever fading waves, until it was just an aching memory. Dumbledore was watching him, those eyes always aware, and the professor reached a hand out, laying it on Draco's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"You will not meet that fate, Draco. Miss Granger has saved you through the greatest gift of all. But you have also saved yourself by loving her, and that makes you an incredible wizard, Draco. As I've always known you would be."

And Draco Malfoy smiled, a different kind of joy overwhelming him, knowing that this man, one of the greatest wizards that ever lived, was proud of him. And Draco vowed silently that he would never let him down.

"Thank you, Professor," Draco said, rising from his seat. They stood for a moment, professor and student, and became two wizards, two men, with mutual respect and trust. It was something still unfamiliar to Draco, but it had happened earlier with Harry, and now Dumbledore. Allies and kindred. Like calling to like.

With no warning, thunder boomed, the stone walls vibrating from the shock. The thunder boomed again, but it was more than thunder, it was if a thousand voices were shrieking agony beneath that low growling sound. Dumbledore immediately rushed from the room and Draco followed behind, twisting through passageways until Dumbledore pushed open the door and they both were on the school grounds. The sky was steely gray, pulsing with lightning, as trails of grimy smoke made twisted trails across the skies. Death Eaters. They couldn't get past the barriers, but they were putting on a grisly show, and Draco watched as the rest of the school poured out of the castle, dressed in their pajamas with wands in hand. Weasely and Harry were among the crowd, and Harry, with a few words to a frightened Ron, ran to him, falling into place beside Draco as he had earlier, his wand ready to protect. Dumbledore muttered a word and whipped his wand toward the sky. A beam of effervescent light streaked toward the clouds, splitting the ugly storm to reveal the midnight blue of early morning. The Death Eaters screeched in rage, and the greasy trails of smoke vanished as they flew off beyond the horizon. The storm dissipated, the sky a clear, deep sapphire, and Draco watched the professors herd the students back inside, leaving him with Dumbledore, who had lowered his wand still flickering with light, and Harry, strong and silent.

Draco looked toward the castle, up to the medical ward, where he knew Hermione was sleeping, he could feel it in his bones, her peaceful repose, her soft breaths. Magic pulsed inside him, dark and wild, the power of the Drakon, and Draco turned back toward the horizon where the Death Eaters had retreated. He stood between Dumbledore and Harry, silver and emerald, his sworn allies, kindred.

"I swear, _Voldemort_," Draco growled, spiraling deep inside himself, all that cold, dark power honed and ready. "I give my word of honor that I, Draco Malfoy, who was made for your hand, made for the destruction of all that's good in this world, will see that you are destroyed. This I vow." A smirk slashed across his face, baring his teeth in a feral grin. "And a Drakon always keeps his word."


	4. To Battle

Darkness wavered around him, and Draco slowly became aware of several things: the silken sheets beneath his cheek, the warm hand stroking his cheek, and that raspberry hazelnut scent that only belonged to _her._ He eyes flickered opened, momentarily blinded by the light of morning, and then his room materialized into view. He blinked, once, twice, then turned on his side and into the waiting arms of Hermione Granger.

"Good morning, Draco," She said, her eyes a soft topaz. He reached a hand up, slipping his fingers through her cascading chestnut curls as he brushed against her cheek, watching her eyes flutter from his touch.

"How are you here?" He whispered, mind still bleary with sleep.

"I felt fine this morning, and only Madame Pomfrey petrifying me would have kept me from leaving," she explained matter-of-fact, running her fingers across his temple. "Sleep well?"

"I did. How did I-" His voice trailed off as the memories from last night assaulted him. Collapsing into his bed. Standing with Harry and Dumbledore. The Death Eaters. Dumbledore's office. Drakon.

Drakon.

He sat up abruptly, grasping at his chest which nearly burst in unfulfilled need. His instincts battled inside him, violently eager, power rippling beneath his skin in ever strengthening waves. He barely registered Hermione sitting up beside him, but her scent overwhelmed his senses once more, and that ancient need shrieked desperate.

"Draco?" Her voice was sharp with worry. "What's wrong?"

She shifted closer, warm and soft against him, and it nearly drove him mad. "Hermione, you have to leave, right now," Draco hissed, hands buried in his silver blonde hair, shaking from restraint.

"No." Her hand rested on his shoulder, and it was a sweet agony, Draco's head reeling from the painful bliss of it. "I won't leave you. I'll never leave you."

He snarled, shuddering, and suddenly he was above her, holding her wrists above her head, his hips imprisoning her beneath him. "You don't understand! If you know what's good for you, Granger, you'll kick me on my arse and run out of here screaming!"

"Then make me understand, Draco," Hermione demanded, her mouth stubborn, eyes flashing determination. Seeing her unafraid, the ache eased inside him, just enough so he could release her wrists, but he remained on top of her, his instincts refusing to let her up. He breathed in slow, reveling in their closeness, satisfying that feral need if only for now.

"After I left you yesterday, I nearly killed six Slytherins that threatened to do you harm," he confessed, eyes darkening to molten iron at the memory. Hermione's eyes widened slightly, but there was no shame, no accusation, and Draco continued, "Harry stopped me, he stood by my side, and the cowards ran before any damage could be done. Dumbledore found us two minutes later."

That's when Hermione did gasp. "Draco! You were caught after curfew by the Headmaster himself! Can't you keep yourself out of trouble for one-"

Draco's mouth stopped her mid phrase, and the kiss successfully ended her tirade. He pulled back, smirking at her glazed honey eyes and swollen pink lips. "Dumbledore took me to his office and revealed to me something that changes everything."

He breathed, deep, his feral instincts snarling inside him once again, desperate to complete the _clamore_, to submit himself to her in every possible way. He bent his head low, running his nose along the line of her neck, setting his teeth in the tender spot just below her ear. He could feel her pulse in his veins, like tribal drums, urging him to taste her blood so he could finally be hers.

"Draco?" He heard her heated whisper, beckoning him. "What did he tell you?"

He raised his head, catching her hawk eyes, and could no more refuse her an answer than he could refuse himself breath. "I am not human, Hermione. I am Drakon."

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but Draco could barely conceal the gasp of surprise when, instead of confusion blooming on her face, Hermione's eyes darkened bronze, became ancient once more. They were wild and wise and powerful beyond anything Draco had ever known. He didn't resist when she lifted herself up, standing beside the bed, caught in her gaze. She motioned for him, and with some hidden instinct finally making itself known, he fell to his knees before her as if he'd waited all his life for this moment. She murmured something, a small blade appearing in her hand, and in one quick movement, she had nicked her wrist, the wound welling crimson. Draco couldn't help a glance at her blood, bright red against her gold dust skin, and everything inside him blazed hot and hungry, so close to something he couldn't name.

"Draco Malfoy." Hermione's voice was power and sunlight, commanding him, and Draco was more than eager to obey. "With my blood, you swear yourself to me. With my blood, I claim you as my own. Such is the power of the Drakon. Such is the law of the Myrrdin. Make your choice, and so mote it be."

She offered her wrist, her scarlet blood beckoning, and with no hesitation, Draco pulled her wrist to him. "I am yours," he whispered. And closed his mouth over the wound.

The flavor hit his tongue, hot and sweet, and in an instant everything inside him exploded. His power raged triumphant, every cell in his body blazing thunder and fire. The darkness spiraled deep within him, transforming, writing the taste of her in his bone, his blood, his very breath. Hermione was etched inside him, her name echoing in every cavernous reach, and Draco had never felt such completion, such utter surrender. It was screaming, violent perfection and it was everything he had ever wanted.

He came to his senses; his face nestled against her stomach, tears burning down his cheeks. He could feel her trembling against him, as overwhelmed as he, and she fell to her knees in front of him, her eyes wet gold. Draco reached out, brushing a tear away with his thumb, and suddenly she was kissing him with such a furious hunger that he growled in response, grabbing her hair and crushing her against him. He savored her, devouring her addictive taste, pushing her back onto the floor without breaking the kiss. She mewled, wrapping her legs around his waist, her nails raking down his back. She bucked her hips against his, making his eyes roll up in the back of his head, her teeth finding his throat and biting hard. With a heated snarl, he grabbed her wrists, holding them above her head, staring into her eyes that were burning with need.

"Ah ah ah, little witch," he cooed, grinding against her, smirking when she whimpered, "I may be yours, bound by your blood, but right now, you're _mine_."

Hermione's eyes flashed defiance, but dissolved with a moan when he slid a wicked hand between them, finding its prize. She writhed against the hand that held her wrists, but refused to beg; biting her lip till it was bruised scarlet. Draco bent his head, nipping at her throat, chuckling soft.

"Now, little witch, tell me. Who do you belong to?"

She squealed, his fingers torturing her sweetly, and her eyes snapped open. "You, Draco. I belong to you, I'm yours, oh please, Draco, please!"

Draco smiled, reclaiming her mouth. He could never refuse her anything.

* * *

The Great Hall was somber when Draco and Hermione entered, the soft panicked murmuring wracked with tension. Draco noted that most of his House were absent, including the six who had ambushed him the night before. The Slytherins who remained were young, too young to join the Dark Lord's cause, and obviously frightened, huddling together at one end of the long table. There were a few older ones, however, like Daphne Greengrass, sitting to herself with dark circles under her eyes. Draco stopped, and Hermione turned to him, their eyes locking together. No words were necessary, and she smiled, kissing him softly, then made her way to the Gryffindor table.

Draco walked slowly to his fellow Slytherin as if she were a wild, wounded animal that would dart away any second. He sat down beside her and she jerked, staring at him with wide eyes, the emerald blazing fear, and Draco swallowed down the shame burning in his throat.

"The rest were summoned, I suppose?" The question was innocuous enough, but the meaning was clear.

A moment passed, then Daphne nodded, threading a lock of black hair behind her ear. "The Dark Mark was calling them. Before they could question why my Mark wasn't doing the same, I was gone. I've been staying in the Room of Requirement for weeks now."

Draco nodded, processing the information. He remembered the expectation, the cold eyes staring with strange hunger at the pale skin of his forearm. And then how the hunger vanished and only rage remained when weeks passed and the Dark Mark never surfaced.

"Why?"

Daphne shuffled, then tilted her head toward the end of the table. Draco turned, and saw a third year girl giggling low with her friends, a smile timid on her features mostly hidden by raven colored hair. The girl darted a glance their way, her emerald eyes too large for her pixie like face, and grinned, waving at Daphne and Draco. Then she returned to her friends, bolder than before. Draco turned back to his fellow House mate, and saw her shoulders shake from invisible burdens.

"That's Astoria, my baby sister," Daphne explained, though Draco already knew, "My parents, though sticklers for blood purity, never officially joined the Death Eaters. They were grateful too, when the Dark Lord was gone and the Dark Mark was a death sentence. Now, it doesn't matter. The Death Eaters showed up on their doorstep a few months ago, while we were here, and gave them a choice. Death or Mark. But it wasn't their lives they threatened. It was ours."

She swallowed, her eyes a wet green, her hands wringing nervously. "They agreed to the Mark. We haven't heard from them since. But I-I won't let myself be imprisoned by a tattoo. I won't follow a madman that wants to destroy everything, purebloods included. That's a battle that no one will win." She stared at Draco, features darkened with violent intent, and Draco understood. "And I'll kill anyone who threatens my sister's life, her happiness, her innocence. I want her to be smiling always. I don't care how many Death Eaters I have to rip apart to do it."

It was silent for a few passing moments, and finally Draco stood, beckoning Daphne to rise as well. Confused, she rose to her feet, and Draco took her shoulder in his hand, and began walking to the center table. Daphne balked, nearly shaking with nerves. "But that's the Gryffindor table! They hate us!"

Draco smirked mischief, his feet unerring. "Some, perhaps. Others will understand. Besides, the shock on their faces will be delicious."

Daphne thought about it, then laughed, the wicked glint returning to her gaze. "I can do shock factor alright."

She walked around the table, and with no apology took the seat between Harry and Weasely. Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly at their antics, but politely introduced himself, while Weasely nearly swallowed his tongue. Draco took his place beside Hermione, who, for the entire Hall to see, kissed him very soundly. Draco was eager to oblige.

"Honestly, you two, I'm eating." Hermione and Draco pulled back to see Harry smiling rueful, sipping his pumpkin juice.

"And honestly, I couldn't care much less," Draco drawled, but settled an arm around Hermione, content for now. "Pet, this is Daphne Greengrass, a fellow House mate. Daphne, this is my girlfriend, Hermione Granger."

He could feel her warm with pleasure beside him at the use of the term, something they had never actually discussed. Draco supposed it didn't really matter what title they used. He belonged to her and she, him. Nothing else mattered.

"Wonderful to meet you, Daphne," Hermione responded, more than welcoming, "I think we may have had an Ancient Runes class together. Have you met Ron?"

Daphne smiled, sweetly vicious, and turned to a very nervous Ronald Weasely. "I don't believe I have," she admitted, lifting her hand, "I'm Daphne Greengrass."

Draco could barely contain his laughter as Ron quickly wiped his hands on his robes, his blush flaming to his hairline, shaking the offered hand. "R-ron Weasely. Nice to meet you."

"A pleasure, of course," Daphne purred, swinging her curtain of ebon hair over one shoulder and inching closer to the red haired wizard, "I'm looking forward to becoming _much_ better acquainted."

"I'm sure," Harry snarked, and the whole table erupted with laughter, except for a blushing Weasely, who couldn't keep his eyes off the Slytherin beauty seated next to him. The rest of lunch flowed smoothly, as if they all had been friends for years. Maybe they would have, Draco mused silently, watching as Weasely and Harry did their best to make Daphne Greengrass, pureblooded Slytherin, giggle like a school girl while Hermione scolded them in jest. He had been raised with a single credo: There were pure bloods, who deserved everything, and Mudbloods, who deserved nothing. But sitting next to him, her hand laced with his, was the most intelligent witch he had ever known, her compassion never faltering, her courage stubborn and unfailing. And she was Muggle born. A Mudblood. But he had tasted her blood this morning, and it was clean and heady and sweet, without a trace of dirt or grime. Everything he had been taught, everything that he had been shaped to believe, was lies. And this girl beside him, her honey gold eyes warm with devotion, was truth. A truth Draco would die to defend.

The explosion shook the castle walls and Draco became cold and lethal in an instant.

The Great Hall was in an uproar, the professors hastening to their feet, urging the students to stay calm. Dumbledore was already rushing out the corridor, and it only took a moment of quick glances for the group to make their decision. Draco and Hermione rushed from the Hall, closely followed by Harry, Ron and Daphne pausing just to make sure Astoria was kept safe. They tumbled out onto the lawn, wands in hand, and noticed the fire immediately. It was raging, writhing black and slimy green and circling the castle just beyond the barrier. Death Eaters screeched overhead, trails of greasy smoke smeared in their wake, but they weren't attacking, just eagerly watching what was surely about to unfold. Draco moved beside Dumbledore, teeth bared and eyes slivers of cold iron. Power licked his insides like icy tongues of fire, all the more potent with Hermione's blood simmering in his veins. But Dumbledore made no move, waiting patient, eyes locked on something in the distance.

"Wait, Draco," Dumbledore cautioned, silver aura bright beside him, "There is some deeper reason for this display. They have made this place into a potential battleground and we must not let down our guard."

The strange black and emerald flames reached ever skyward, licking the tree tops out of view, when they suddenly split like a curtain, revealing several shadowed figures in the distance. The figures approached, and even with nothing more than their blackened outlines, Draco knew his father and mother were among them. And so was Voldemort. The Dark Lord's power was a sickly rumble beneath the earth, like a foul smelling oil, coating his skin and bones and soul and it made Draco want to scream in disgust. Instead, he grabbed Hermione's hand in his, and her golden aura burst inside his veins and cleared away the grimy darkness. He caught her gaze, her eyes bronze and omniscient, and they turned back to the forward march of the Death Eaters, magic thrumming ever strong between them.

Voldemort reached the barrier, now clearly in view, his pale deformed face twisted with an elegant malice as he viewed the school grounds.

"Ah, Professor Dumbledore," he crooned, his voice everywhere, circulating on the wind and impossible to escape, "This is how you welcome your former student? I must confess I'm a touch offended."

Dumbledore took a step forward, and Draco felt his power, silvery and effervescent, gathering like a fog around him. "What do you want, Tom?" Dumbledore asked, the gentleness of his tone belied by the steel underneath.

Voldemort laughed, a hideous cackle that thundered ominous. "Oh, Albus, still playing such games with me. You would think you would have learned that was unwise." His serpentine gaze flickered, and landed on Harry, making him hiss in cold delight.

"Ah, Harry Potter, how I hoped you would be here. I'm so looking forward to killing you."

"Not a chance, Voldemort," Harry spat, clutching his wand like a spear, magic flaring emerald green.

"Foolish. Just like your parents," Voldemort sneered, dismissing him the next instant. His gaze shifted and stopped on Draco, and a cold rage suffused his deformed features. "Ah, Draco. My little traitor dares to show his face."

"I promised you no loyalty." Draco couldn't keep from snarling, his eyes shifting into reptilian slits without his knowledge, his Drakon blood stirring violent inside him. "And besides, there is nothing you could offer me to join you."

"Nothing?" The Dark Lord grinned, ghastly and vicious, and finally his gaze rested on Hermione Granger, his expression one of undisguised hunger. "How about this little Mudblood's life?"

Draco's response was pure immediate instinct.

His consciousness receded to the background, and everything that had slowly awakened inside him surged to the foreground. Nothing existed but feral power and darkened savagery and his magic raged uncontrolled and unpredictable. He pulled Hermione behind him and growled something intelligible and suddenly silver scales were crawling from his knuckles up his arms, disappearing beneath his shirt only to slip up his neck and stop at his jawline. Talons erupted from his nail beds, sharpened iron, and fangs distended from his mouth until they pressed into his lower lip. His eyes, already cold silver slits, were narrowed and burning with murderous intent and his transformation was complete.

His mind was deep shadow, shifting like wisps of smoke, and the only thing he was certain of was that the serpentine man in front of him had threatened her, the one who owned him, his blood bound mate, and he would tear the man apart if he dared to hurt her.

"Impressive," the serpent hissed, and Draco could barely gather his senses enough to understand the words, "But you are lost to me, boy. You're loyalties are already bound and can't be undone. Such is the Drakon way. But this girl, this Mudblood, is worth more than she seems. She will be most useful."

The serpent pulled some metallic object from his pocket, a jewel encrusted saber, and Draco crouched low, growling, ready to rip him apart with talon and teeth. Some silver aura beside him was pushing forward, something that deep inside echoed kindred, attempting to protect him and his mate, and there was a flare of emerald power, another ally, beside him raised as a shield, but the serpent hissed words beyond his recognition and the sky screamed. In an instant, everything was thunderous torment, and without warning her scent was gone. She was no longer beside him. Draco howled in anguish, and when the smoke cleared, he saw his mate struggling in the arms of the serpent, screaming his name.

"Draco!"

He broke into a sprint, racing forward with lethal intent, violence screaming inside him desperate to taste the serpent's blood but something dark crashed into him and he tumbled to the ground, muscles paralyzed and then released. When he looked up, they were gone, the serpent and his followers. And so was she.

"No," he hissed, his blood quaking inside him, his chest threatening to split open and spill everything that he was, "No."

Two figures approached, silver and green, and while he recognized them as kindred, grief was overwhelming his senses and he dug his talons in his hair and let loose a tormented shriek, so full of rage and grief and terror and utter loss that the earth cracked beneath him. He collapsed forward, his arms wracked with tremors, claws digging into the earth, and he felt two pairs of hands grab his shoulders and he was was flushed with their magic, mingling inside him and controlling the power that was desperate to destroy the world that didn't have her with him.

His senses were returning, Draco slowly becoming aware, his Drakon self receding and his humanity returning. He remembered Dumbledore and Harry, who were holding onto him fierce, and he felt his scales melt back into his skin, his talons and fangs disappearing. His eyes fluttered shut, and when they opened they were human silver once more and wet with heartbreak.

"Hermione," he whispered, grief breaking his words, "She's gone."

"We'll get her back, Draco," Harry promised, his voice fortified with iron determination, "There's no doubt about that. We'll get her back."

Draco could feel Dumbledore bend beside him, a gentle hand offering comfort on his shoulder. "He's right, Draco. The battle yet awaits. And we'll need you beside us."

A moment bled through, and Draco raised his head, his gaze colder and more feral than ever before. "Yes," he promised, violence simmering low in his veins, eager for the battle to come. "Yes, I will get you back, Hermione. I will destroy them all, and I will get you back. I swear it."


End file.
